


Uninterrupted

by aeryn_sun



Category: Cardinal (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Canon Rewrite, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeryn_sun/pseuds/aeryn_sun
Summary: Just a little doodle to get back into the habit of writing ... what if they had not been interrupted in all those scenes in S4? Would their lives have taken a slightly different trajectory?I have every intention of making this into a series where they actually slowly and tenderly acknowledge their feelings.I haven’t been snowed in without power, but after basically sleeping my way through my Christmas holidays and needing a bit of a creative break after that full-on advent calendar, I’ve been super busy seeing as how I’m the PRO in procrastination and now scrambling to meet all my deadlines and pretty much starting the year how I ended it: overworked and exhausted. And with my precious free time, had to make sure my favorite girl had a very special and very late Christmas present and my favorite kids’ birthdays were very special - seeing as how I know from personal experience that being a December (or January) baby kinda sucks.But there’s light at the end of the tunnel and I hope I’ll be back more regularly again soon.
Relationships: John Cardinal & Lise Delorme, John Cardinal/Lise Delorme
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Wanna keep me company?

**Author's Note:**

> Things would not be complete with the tiniest dash of angst in the air. It’s like a little dash of salt.

John had woken up, groggy from another nightmare, feeling sweat cooling on his warm neck. He slowly drifted into confused consciousness, trying to make sense of his pounding heart until he realized he must have been dreaming. He’d fallen asleep sketching the cabin over a beer, never slipping under the covers and had woken as clueless about what to do next as he‘d fallen asleep with. He’d been sleeping restlessly, lately.

Maybe he’d been cold without the covers, hence another icy cold dream. Or maybe his subconscious had been trying to sort through the fog of his complicated emotions. He‘d felt fear, something having triggered his amygdala, stumbling and falling, trying to keep something inevitable from happening, making him pound on frozen car windows in his dream, trying to break down an transparent barrier that had frozen over, making what was inside invisible. The fear of imminent loss. Stumbling and failing to keep it from happening. Trying to get inside, trying to stop something from happening that he couldn‘t prevent, hard as he tried. Only for the ground beneath him to start shattering and the ice cold water ready to pull him under, unsure if he was drowning or freezing to death.

Shaking of his dark thoughts, he sat up on the edge of the bed, looking at the previous night’s doodles. The cabin by the lake, a vision he’d held dear for a long time. He’d always had a passion for woodworking, something comforting about the warmth of the material and the smell of sawdust. The idea of constructing his own house had always held a particular sensation of grounding him, of feeling a visceral connection to the earth and the land and the trees where he had been born and the familiarity was comforting. At least it had been.

Algonquin Bay was his home and held so many memories. From as early as a small boy, exploring the woods, smelling of rain and pines, later hiking with his father whose approval he sought, but never quite gained with the older man distant and closed off to the sensitive nature of his son. He knew the lakes and the hills, inside and out. It held the memory of the birth of his only daughter, when he’d been so much younger, racing across the snow-covered highway to get to the hospital. It held painful memories, too, of his wife‘s illness, finding her disoriented and manic on the frozen lake, where he used to swim and dive off the jetty as a young boy, still untroubled by life. Burying his father, a relationship so complicated, at the time he wasn’t sure it was grief that he covered with the brown earth shoveled on top of the coffin or relief. It also held the memories of the death of his wife and piecing his life back together when she was gone. He had wanted to retire then and sell the house, but she had not shared his dream. And now that she was gone, he wondered what would become of him. Was it what he wanted?

And as he had been drawing the outlines of the wooden structure, he had quietly been contemplating what the future was that he was trying to piece together. What kind of solitary, lonely life he was building for. How much room he would need in that cabin out by the lake. A guest room for his daughter. A fireplace. And as he sketched, without much conscious thought, somehow he‘d drawn a sad, small house and when he had realized, he had crumbled the piece of paper and he had started all over again, with something much bigger, two stories and large deck where he could sit and watch the sun set. Only, it hadn‘t entered his mind that he‘d drawn something much too big for one person, something that was meant to be _shared_.

Tossing the drawing aside, not wanting to follow the train of thought it had brought up again, he got up. Trying to shrug off his glum mood, he made a large pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup and pouring the rest into a thermos before putting on his thick winter parka and winter boots, grabbing a woolen hat from the drawer on his way out the door, escaping from the loneliness of his nighttime contemplations.

The reasons why he was seeking out the company of the one person that somehow always seemed to be able to pull him from the darkest of fogs did not occur to him. His legs were moving of their own volition, his tired mind letting them carry him wherever they needed to go. Not ready to face the complicated feelings that came with his partner and the fact that she had talked to an old colleague in Toronto and she’d considered moving away. Had considered _leaving him_ behind. Not ready to acknowledge that perhaps it had been _that_. The thought of working without her by his side somehow impossible, making him think about retirement and the cabin again. Making him draw up plans of a future he was about to lose.

He pulled up behind her, sensing her curious eyes trained on his approaching vehicle in the rearview mirror. Passing her the thermos through the window, a slow smile beginning to spread as warmth started spreading from his belly across his body, replenishing the warmth that the dream had drained from him. She thanked him, effortlessly seeing through the gesture and quietly inquiring what the real reason was why he had shown up here in the middle of the night. He admitted to a half-truth, that he couldn‘t sleep, without revealing the depths of his nightmares.

She asked if he was adjusting to the new place and somehow, the large brown eyes seeing right through him made his confused mood disappear. He was not getting used to it, the new apartment or the cold nightmares or the thought of her leaving, but he did not want to burden her, not when she looked at him and he caught the flash of doubt clouding her eyes, but letting it slide, opting for a lighter tone and a smile that made it all seem very far away.

When he asked about the stakeout, she reached a hidden, forbidden part of his soul when she asked if he wanted to keep her company. How she did that, seeing right through his excuses and seeing the truth behind them, that that was what he was here for. Her company. And she was happy enough at his response, a smile that reached his eyes and she knew that this time, he told her the truth and felt no need to hide it.

And just like that, she made room, grabbing her things from the passenger seat and tossing them on the backseat, putting the thermos in the cupholder between them. And he slipped inside, a comfortable silence falling between them. After a while, she grabbed the thermos, pouring the steaming liquid into the cup. Of course it contained the perfect amounts of milk and just a small taste of sugar. She took a few sips, before offering it to him and it seemed like he was contemplating far more than the simple gesture.

„What‘s keeping you up?“ She asked gently as he busied himself with the coffee, unhurried for an answer.

„Just a bad dream.“

“Hmmm.”

And she didn’t press further. He would tell her, when he was ready and a comfortable silence settled between them again as they passed the thermos back and forth a few more times, his warm fingers brushing against her cold, gloved ones.

And after the third time, he asked, voice low and gravelly “Cold?”

And she shrugged and he took it as confirmation, reaching for her clammy hand, rubbing it between his warm hands. She sighed with relief, proffering her other hand and he pulled at the tips of her leather gloves, pulling them off her white, cold fingers, enveloping them in his warm palms and leaning down to blow hot air over them. And somehow, the slightly rough skin on his palms from working outdoors, chopping wood and fixing things around the house, surrounding her small, slender, soft fingers sent a strange current of courage through his veins.

And as he held her hands in his, softly rubbing warmth into them, with the same raspy voice, he told her about the sketches of the cabin and she felt a familiar tingle deep inside her belly as a cold feeling surrounded her heart when she considered what her future held and the doubt about her rash decision to go to Toronto started creeping in. And sensing her change in mood, he released her hands as the secure blanket of the darkness of night started to lift around them.

It was cold in the car, temperatures well below freezing as the morning dawned, the sky opening up above, the horizon filling with the red of the sunrise in a clear and crisp blue winter sky. And as they watched the day break, red hues turning yellow, they were both acutely aware of the beauty of the sunrise and the romantic notion of a new day and all its possibilities it carried.

And as the light chased out the remaining darkness, she cleared her throat from the emotions tinging her voice, constricting around her larynx. “Guess no luck tonight.”

“Guess not.”

“Thanks for keeping me company.”

And with a warm, soft expression surrounding his eyes, he replied “It was my pleasure.”

And it was another silent moment, before he shuffled, opened the door and returned to his own vehicle and followed her to the precinct, a small smile gracing his features, mirrored by the slightly more confused one on her face. 


	2. What I should have said, earlier?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this was a little trickier than the last one and my head is pretty fried after pulling all nighters the better part of the last week. So ... they still get interrupted. Just a little bit later. Because what would they be without a little angst sprinkled in?

Back in the darkness of the car, John considered the day’s events. There was little that surprised him anymore, having seen and heard too much in his long career. He was not surprised that other people lived very different lives, pristine interiors hiding strange truths under their spotless surfaces. He did not understand why someone would feel the need to go outside one’s marriage for pleasure or comfort, but he never questioned it, understanding that different people needed different things. Human nature was anything but universal. 

He was a little lost in his own thoughts, steering the car in the twilight, thoughts concentrated on the road. He felt like he had felt earlier as he had been watching the snow fall across the cold earth as he was waiting for her to come back from the motel’s front desk. It was a if he could sense a dark storm brewing in the distance, as if something was about to unleash itself and he understood that someone’s life could change very suddenly, just like the weather. How quickly one could lose what one took for granted.

But for some reason, though he had know, he felt blindsided when it hit him, completely unprepared for it _himself_. It had been weeks ago when she’d told him about the job in Toronto and for some reason, it had not felt like any kind of real scenario. He’d refused to be believe that she would go, had ignored it hoping it would sort itself out on its own. He should have known. On some level, he had. He’d always been able to read other people well, but with her, it was instinctual.

The way she had not answered his unspoken question, deferring to later. She hadn’t been ready to tell him. Some things she could not say in the bright light of day. It wasn’t the right time. Not when they were heading into a new investigation, the first few hours crucial to resolving the case. She was like him that way, putting everything on hold when it mattered. He had known, staring into the falling snow, had felt a change coming.

And when she told him, later, about the job, he’d reacted like a robot. Mechanically. What one was expected to say. And he felt her big doe eyes on him. He knew it had been difficult for her, the way she’d been hesitating, biting her lip. Cold fear had gripped his heart when she’d confirmed that she had gotten the job and he tried to cover it. Covered it too well with misdirection. It was the truth, after all – she would do great down there. And he was grateful for the distraction, giving him a moment to recover. To find the courage to tell her what he wanted to say. What he _needed_ to say.

It wasn’t like she couldn’t read him. She had noticed his lack of sincerity, his deer caught in the headlights reaction. The same way he’d noticed the disappointment in her slumped shoulders, in the way her entire body seemed to deflate, the way her voice broke, just a little. That was the way it as with them. They were so good at reading people, they didn’t have to ask. They _knew_. She knew _him_ and she never pushed. Patient Lise, always there, waiting. And suddenly, he was running out of time and he needed to fix it. She would have let it go. He needed to tell her the _right_ thing.

And he tried, but finding the words was _impossible_. He was fumbling. And he told her the only way he knew how and she understood. She _understood_. She understood what he was trying to say, with nothing more than _a look_. How hard _*this*_ was for him. The way she always did. The way she always knew how to fix _him_. Knew how to reach him. And it softened him. Made him speechless, still.

“Do you want to come inside?”

How did she always know what to say? He was so surprised, it took him a moment to understand her meaning. Was she …? He’d been inside her home before. They’d reviewed case files. Watched movies. He knew the way her bathroom smelled of her. But this … was somehow _more_ than he’d bargained for. He hadn’t even figured out what he needed to tell her. All he knew is that he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her to stay, selfishly. But whatever it was that she was offering, all he knew was that he wanted it.

She walked ahead her body taut with tension. And a part of him wanted to bolt. But _this_ was too important. He sensed her anxiety, her questions, carefully checking that he was following. If he hadn’t retreated into his shell again. He sensed the vulnerability in her eyes. She wasn’t avoiding eye contact, but she was cautious. Guarded. Confirming that he was _sure_. He’d spooked, before. Not ready to address what was plain as day. And leaning on the edge of her door, a soft smile was all it took to reassure her that he was on the same page.

And what she’d read in his expression brought a cautious, hopeful smile to her face as she rustled with the keys and he couldn’t help mirroring her expression, making her small dimples appear.

And she’d opened the door, stepping through as she felt the sky bottom out in her stomach, another nervous look back over her shoulder as he followed close behind, drawing the door closed behind them as he loomed over her in the small space, hovered, shoulders slumped. He looked almost defeated, but not unhappily so, standing in her hallway, filling in her doorway, looming, blocking out the light, his large frame exaggerated by the puffy winter coat.

“Lise …..”

“John ….it’s OK, you don’t have to …” She was staring, the whites of her eyes showing, before she begun to retreat inside herself again and he rushed his next words.

“I know … let me … _try_ …” His soft eyes scrunching slightly, begging her for a little patience.

“OK…”

He never thought two letters could break down his barriers, but they were the most vulnerable he’d ever heard her. Waiting, expectantly, hopeful … that he would not blunder this.

“I don’t want to hold you back.”

The second the words left his mouth, he knew he should have started differently as he saw her defenses rise as she steeled herself to be let down by him again.

“John …”

And he reached for her, gently holding her hands in his calloused palms, the same way he had that morning as the sun rose around them.

“Let me … finish…. I don’t want to hold you back … but I don’t want to lose you.’

And he grasped her hand, stretching her fingers out over his heart, covering her hand with his own.

“You know how much you mean to me … you have to _know_.”

And she closed her eyes softly, feeling his pounding heart underneath her hand. “I know.” She whispered, drawing in a heavy, unsteady breath.

“I need you …but I can’t ask you to stay.”

“John …” And he saw the overwhelming emotion in her eyes, tears threatening to fall.”… I can’t stay ….we can’t be stuck in this limbo forever.”

He pulled her in, no longer able to face her glazed eyes boring into him.

“Give me a little more time, Lise.” He pleaded into her hair, cradling her against his body, feeling moisture seep into his shirt.

“Ok.”

And they stood in the hallway, awkwardly embracing, when first John‘s phone buzzed, and then hers. Interrupting their moment.


End file.
